Last week, when I mentioned reading Ms. Magazine at the Y, there were a few commenters dutifully impressed that I read something so heavy while working out. It is true that I never read fluff on the elliptical. I have been known to work out with Henry James. However, this is not because I am some intellectual powerhouse. It is because I despise working out on machines. I really only like running or swimming, but those aren’t always an option. Trust me when I tell you that the only reason I do my heaviest reading while exercising is because if I have to really think about what I am reading, I don’t spend a half an hour watching seconds elapse until I can get off the Godforsaken machine.
I actually read a fairly wide range of periodicals. I’m sort of a magazine junkie. I have a long history with The New Yorker, although we are taking a break from one another. I like The Economist as well as The New York Times. I live for Brain, Child, love Hip Mama, and used to adore Cookie, before it went the way of all good things. And, though it may shock you, I really dig Glamour.
“Why would anyone want to read this?” my husband asked, although I think he wonders that about everything that isn’t Kitchen and Bath Magazine or somesuch.
“It actually has some great essays.”
“Where?” He flipped through. “It looks like all ads.”
“No, there are always interesting essays in the back. Plus, they are trying to use different sized models.”
Of course, what I didn’t tell him is that, even though I don’t wear makeup, I kind of like the sections that tell me which shade of eye shadow are in this season. Even though the last time I bought a purse was 2006, I like to know just how out of date my accessories are. And, hey, this month Glamour admitted it made a mistake about the jumpsuit, although I must say I think they were right the first time when they labeled it a big ol’ “don’t.”
I can’t put my finger on the appeal of this magazine, but I can tell you it is very, very appealing. I know this because my seventeen-month-old daughter cannot get enough of it.
I’m not sure if it is Posh Spice or the puppy, but she could stare at this month’s cover for ten minutes, happily pointing at parts of the picture and babbling. Then, she opens it up and points some more, clearly asking me all sorts of questions. I’ve always made it a habit of reading her whatever she asks about, so now she knows just exactly what cute accessories are in for the spring and how to tone her abs.
Needless to say, I am a little worried about her interest in shopping. Which is why it filled me with delight this weekend to walk into the dining room and find her intently examining another of my favorite periodicals.